


Memories of my Sweetheart, the Hero

by Kaiiro



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Death, F/M, Lost Love, SAAAaaaaaaaaddd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6342556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiiro/pseuds/Kaiiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair reflects on the blight and all it cost him. While gaining a kingdom, he has lost far too much. One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of my Sweetheart, the Hero

* * *

   Alistair came to the conclusion rather slowly over a span of years. A throne was the loneliest place in the world. You could have the adoration of the people, the country could be prospering and recovering spectacularly from a Blight, but a King wasn't a real person to them. He was a character. Someone without flaws. A two-dimensional thing that had no thoughts or emotions that didn't serve the good of the country. No, the throne was a seat that you took with a heavy heart and the knowledge that you would be the loneliest man in the country. It didn't matter how many women Eamon tried to make him marry, none of them saw him as that goofball Alistair, who had been an _almost_ Templar and a Grey Warden. They say Alistair Theirin. King of Fereldan and son of Maric. Who could fill those Blighted boots? He paled in the shadow of his own hype. He sat now upon that lonely throne and sighed deeply as Arl Eamon gave some report on annual agriculture something something. It was mind-numbingly dull. Maybe he should have let Anora keep the damned thing. She had been eager enough for it. But the original plan had been so much different than what he was living through now. Mahariel had told him to take the throne. And she would help him rule. She would have had a better head for this sort of.... Crap.

   He thought of her now, such a small little thing. She had been a good head shorter than he, but well-muscled. She had worked hard for her Dalish tribe all her life. She had been the fittest person he'd ever met! She'd run rings around them all! She'd had short black hair, cropped up at the back. She said it was easier to manage that way. Either way, he had loved her short hair. It made her different than all the other women he'd ever met. Her eyes had been the colour of gleaming steel. It truly was a reflection of her soul, for she endured. Through all things she endured. She always got back up, no matter how hard they had battered her down. And odds were she had a mischievous grin on her perfect lips. Travelling with her had been like a dream, a fantasy he could never have even fully imagined. She had been such a vibrant person, so bold and active. And she had loved him. Even now after all that had happened, he could scarcely believe that such a creature, such a glorious, glorious creature could have loved him.

   Ever since they had hit the open road with that witch (bitch more like) Morrigan, they had been harmlessly flirting. It had been fun and it had kept them going. It had sustained him, and he was certain that it was just her personality type. It was just the way she communicated. But as their party grew and as time went on, he saw she only had this harmless flirting banter with him. A slight smile tugged at his lips, in embarrassment as he remembered that whole "Licked a Lamppost in Winter" conversation. Maker he was such an idiot. But he still remembered that time she had punched him in the jaw, lightly, then grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely after an ogre had very nearly flattened him in the Deep Roads. His fingers ghosted over his lips, remembering his stuttering awkward conversation with her that night about how much she meant to him. That he had fallen head over heels for her. Then like the utter dork that he was, he'd pulled out a rose for her. And still she loved him.

   Several nights while they travelled, they'd both awaken to the silence all around them, panting with fear having had the Archdemon speak to them in their sleep. In the dark they'd cling to each other, the only ones in the party who truly understood what it was like to be a Grey Warden. With a look they could communicate so much to each other. Shar was not always the best at letting others know how she felt. She'd put up a wall of cockiness that was ridiculously charming and endearing. But with a look to him, she could show him just how scared she felt. That she needed his support in that moment. In other moments, with a look she could summon him to her tent, where they would spend the night in a sheer bliss that had always been forbidden to him. She feel of her skin on his, the soft kisses she would run down his neck. It didn't even seem like a story he had been a part of anymore. It was all so surreal. Now that she was gone.

   She could disappear so easily into the trees. She was a Dalish huntress after all. It was her speciality. But he had never thought that she would disappear from his life. She had made him the King, said that she would stay by his side, help him rule. Love him all her life. Then they had learned the awful truth. A Grey Warden must die with the Archdemon. He had tried so hard to strike that final blow so she wouldn't have to, but he just couldn't get to the dragon. He had been forced to watch her drive the sword into the Archdemon. The white light consumed them, shooting into the sky. The Darkspawn fled as Shar's body fell to the ground. Lifeless. He could still hear his own screams in his ears. He could still feel her lifeless body in his arms. A body that had once been so alive within his arms. A personality so vibrant and tangible snuffed out in the blink of an eye. And just like that the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life had been stripped from him. He would have to rule Fereldan alone. He would have to sleep alone. He would have to bear the brunt of his nightmares alone. He would spend his life alone.

All the colour was gone from the world now that his beloved Mahariel was dead.

   "Your majesty?" Eamon's words were sharp. He knew Alistair wasn't paying him any attention. Alistair gave him a wave of his hand, urging him to continue. But his heart was six feet under.


End file.
